


What We've Become

by wolffairy506



Category: The Walking Dead
Genre: Canon Gay Relationship, M/M, Maybe more people than orginally tagged idk, cause I'm the fluff queen, lots of fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-27
Packaged: 2018-05-25 06:46:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6184795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolffairy506/pseuds/wolffairy506
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What is the line? Where is it drawn, and who gets to draw it? - Aaron struggles with morality, and Eric struggles with Aaron's demons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's Right for You

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own AMC's "The Walking Dead"
> 
> This is set around when the group comes back from the first attack on Negan's compound. Of course not all things are canonical-- I started writing this in December, I bet, so bare with me.

     A tall brunet jerked awake in his sleep, a rough sneeze rattling his ribs as he sat up rigidly. The ginger next to him, previously sleeping, opened his warm brown eyes groggily.   
     

    "Hey, you okay?" He called out quietly as the tall man sneezed repeatedly.   
     

     He sniffed. "Yeah, I'm fine Eric, you can go back to sleep," he murmured in a voice that suggested a congested nose.   
     

     Eric sat up and pressed a palm to the other man's warm forehead.   
     

     "Aaron, you have a fever, you're not okay," he countered, concern and accusal mingling in his coffee brown eyes.   
     

     "No, really, I'm fine." Aaron argued in a more convincing voice. Eric glared with bored eyes.  
     

     "Yea, and so is this world." His unusual dark sarcasm told Aaron to let his guard down, as Eric would be relentless in nagging about it. The brunet let out a long, resigned sigh which ended in a merciless cough. It shook his whole body as Eric rubbed his back comfortingly.  
     

     When it was over, Eric pushed himself out of bed. He wore a thin t-shirt and flannel sleeping pants, his ginger hair wild and unruly.

     "I'll get you some water," he declared, planting a kiss on Aaron cheek before exiting the bedroom.

     Once Eric had left, Aaron let his head fall into his hands, trying to sooth his pounding headache. He swore mentally.

     He'd had a cold for the past week or so, but tonight it was clearly worse.

     Eric returned with a glass of clear water and a small blue object. The ginger held it out to Aaron. 

     "What- no, I'm fine." He insisted, pushing Eric's hand away. 

     The coppery haired man's eyes grew angry. "I know you have a headache, Aaron. It's no secret. I can tell by the way your eyes are cringing. Take. The medicine." He pushed the pill farther towards Aaron's face. The brunet shook his head no. 

     "Dang it, Aaron! Why not!?" He growled back. 

     "You need it mor-"

     "Bullcrap."

     "I'm not sick enough to be using up our supply of medicine,"

     "Aaron, you should see yourself. Your nose and eyes are red, and your skin is clammy and pale. This is worthy of an Advil!" His brown eyes faded from an angry and frustrated light to a concerned and desperate one.

     "Please, take it, for me? I hate seeing you in pain." He pleaded, thrusting the pill at Aaron once more. The brunet glanced up at his boyfriend through thick brown eyelashes. His blue eyes were, at last, submissive. 

     He reached out a reluctant hand and took the pill. Eric sighed with relief and handed Aaron the glass of water.   
He took the pill, and gulped down most of the water in one swig.

     "Thank you." Eric cooed quietly, sitting down next to Aaron. He let the brunet slump against his wiry frame while he wound his fingers through Aaron's soft, unmovable curls. 

     "I hate this," Aaron croaked quietly.   
     "I'm sorry, love,"

  
     "... can't today, he has a cold. Sorry, Daryl, you'll have to postpone your trip." A muffled grunt answered, and a door closed. Aaron peeled his eyes open, the light blinding. He felt like a vampire. 

     After a minute or so, Eric appeared. He wore a collared gray shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and denim gray jean-like pants. 

     "How you feeling?" He inquired in a soothing voice. Aaron groaned as a response. Eric frowned.

     "I'm sorry," he muttered empathetically, his bottom lip sliding under the top one in a an apologetic manner. "I just told Daryl that you won't be able to go out today." 

     "Waht- why did you do tat?" Aaron asked through a stuffed nose. 

     Eric frowned. "You should see yourself. Do we have a mirror? Oh, yeah, we do. Do you know where it- never mind, I remember." He left the room abruptly. God, he's quirky, Aaron thought. 'Just makes me love him more, though.'

     The ginger returned with- as promised- a hand-held mirror. It was slightly cracked on the top, and shone a light bronze color. He handed it to Aaron. 

     Aaron was taken aback by what he saw. His eyes were swollen, red, and bleary. His skin was pale, and small beads of sweat glistened on his face. His eyes were shadowed with purplish black coloring. He looked truly awful. 

     "See what I mean? And you've been twitching in your sleep all of last night. I was kicked once." Eric pulled up the leg of his pants to expose his whole left shin.

     Sure enough, on the stretch of flat pastel skin, a foot shaped bruise resided, marked in a purplish, bluish, black color. 

     "Oh gawd... Imb sorry..." Aaron muttered in shame, voice cracking. 

     Eric let the fabric fall loosely around his leg again. "No need to be. I'll get you some tissue."

     "Thank you," Aaron murmured back.   
He blew his nose, and took a refreshing breath through it. He looked up to see Eric regarding him with wary brown eyes. 

     "I wonder if you have strep throat..." He mused with concern. "God, I hope not. That'd require antibiotics, and the clinic is running low."

     "I think it's just a cold..." Aaron mumbled, sitting up shakily. Eric moved to him and pressed a hand to his temple. 

     "You still have a fever." Eric grumbled, eyebrows furrowing. "And- Aaron, babe, your swaying. Are you dizzy?" 

     Aaron couldn't bring himself to say no. He had a pounding headache, and the world spun in front of him. 

     That was the last straw for Eric. "I'm taking you to Denise." He stated, grabbing Aaron's clammy hand. 

     "No, I don't need it," he growled, yanking his hand back. Eric shook his head wildly, loose curls flying. He swayed on his feet, clearly trying to center his weight again. 

     "Aaron. My. God." Eric's face was crumpling, the fiery strength gone. Tears wetted his pale cheeks. "Aaron, I can't do this anymore-" his light voice caught in his throat. "Do what's right for you," he murmured, wiping frustrated tears from his eyes. 

     Aaron gave in, and staggered to his feet. His legs and hands were shaky, his clothes drenched in sweat. "Okay."


	2. The Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick visit to Denise and a deep discussion about morality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own "The Walking Dead"

     Eric had hobbled along next to Aaron as they traveled down the block to the clinic. The wind was bitter cold, and Aaron, only in his soaked sleepwear, was shivering all over. He sneezed violently. 

     "We're almost there, baby," Eric muttered over the wind. He didn't use 'baby' much, but this was an occasion. The ginger used the pet name when Aaron was upset, or when they cuddled. Aaron loved when Eric called him baby. 

     When they entered the clinic, the first thing the couple noticed was a harsh beeping of a machine. Aaron turned his head, and saw a sleeping woman in a hospital bed with IVs attached to her arm. She was had dark hair and full lips, her skin a light tan color. _Rosita._

     She'd been bit, and Rick and Michonne had made quick work of amputating her infected arm. The heart monitor connected to her other arm beeped steadily- a good sign.

     "Aaron?" A light voice called from the shadows of a dark room. The source stepped into the light. 

     It was a short, curvy woman with pale blonde hair and glasses with a wiry frame. 

     "Yeah, he woke me up at around two in the morning last night. He was sneezing and had a fever, so I took him some water and an Advil. When he woke up, he looked even worse, and still had a fever, so I brought him to you. Can you do anything for him, Denise?" Eric explained, shifting his weight to the un-booted foot. 

     Aaron began to tip, and Denise hurried to his side. She wrapped an arm around his waist and supported him. 

     "Come on, this way," she grunted as she steered Aaron towards a small exam table. Eric tested the amount of pressure that could be applied on his injured foot before joining the doctor. Together, Denise and him pushed Aaron up onto the table, his long, muscular legs dangling off the side. The brunet's head lolled to the side, misty blue eyes half shut. 

     "How long has he been sick?" She inquired Eric.

     "A week maybe, with a nasty cold," he answered, not pulling his eyes of the wobbly brunet. 

     Denise sized him up.

     Shining a light in Aaron's blue eyes, she muttered out a small diagnosis. "Just a cold; probably progressed, though. Take Tylenol to lower the fever, lots of fluids, and rest. Come back if the fever isn't down in twenty four hours." She instructed, handing Aaron a bottle of Tylenol to hold in his shaky hands. "And you shouldn't kiss him until he's healed-- we don't need two members out of commission. Plus, it seems like he's got a pretty nasty cold."

     "Hm," Eric mumbled quietly, lips quirking to the side. "I don't think any sickness will stop me from kissing him, but thanks for the suggestion." 

     He helped Aaron back onto his feet, the two wrapping their arms around each other for support. Eric curled an arm around Aaron's back, his hand wedging under the brunet's armpit to support the brunet's weight.

     The cold wind stung right through Aaron's clothes, and was intensified by the glistening sweat on his skin. The brunet worried for his life on the trip back, and wondered if they would ever make it home. 

     Luckily, the pair did, and Eric lay Aaron down on the couch. He then gathered blanket after blanket to warm up his boyfriend, and made a mug of canned soup. 

     After Aaron had stomached what he could, Eric left the house to inform the rest of the people who were to have interactions with Aaron that he would be out of commission for the next day or two, if not more. He'd been gone for a while now, however, so Aaron guessed that he went to the pantry to get some more soup. 

     Sure enough, once it was presumably a little after eight thirty at night, Eric walked into the house carrying about nine soup cans.

     He had a thin knee up to support some of the renegade cans, and was wobbling on one leg. It was almost comical. 

     After dropping off the soup in the kitchen, Eric swung by to ask Aaron if he wanted dinner. Aaron politely declined; he wasn't feeling as if he were too hungry. 

     Eric then nestled himself into the mess of blankets next to his sweet brunet and kissed him quickly, a small peck on the lips. 

     "The... Doc... Told y-you not t-to..." 

     "Yeah, but I like to live on the wild side. Besides, I thought it might cheer you up a little." Eric flashed a small smile at his brunet boyfriend. Aaron didn't look convinced. 

     "Look," Eric said, eyes tired. "Remember I had that cold a month ago? I am immune to those for the time being. I will kiss who I please."

     Aaron grunted, eyes shutting. He didn't want to try and argue with the dogged ginger anymore. 

     The ginger wrapped his arms around Aaron, engulfing him in warmth. The brunet was still shivering from the trip to the clinic. He put his hands on Eric's waist, fingers shaking. 

     He looked Eric in the eyes with his own reddened blue ones. "I love you." He whispered, and Eric smiled. 

     "I love you too, boo." He murmured, and leaned in for another kiss. 

     After the pair broke away, Aaron felt it his obligation to cuddle with the ginger. The couch was wide enough that the both of them could lay together if they settled in on their sides. So, in their night clothes, they turned to each other and entangled their arms and legs. Eric curled a hand underneath Aaron and back over. He stroked his boyfriend's mousy brown hair idly with slender fingers.

     "Do you agree with what's happening-- you know, with what our group's line is now." Eric asked, sweeping his amber gaze up to Aaron's eyes.

     Aaron sniffed. "What do'y mean?"

     The ginger sighed. "I mean-- we kill without so much as a hesitation now. See a man on the street? Kill him. A woman with no weapon? Kill her. A deal that will bring us food if we kill this group of people we hardly know anything about? Kill them." He shifted in Aaron's arms. "Where's the line? What's good and what's bad now? What've we become? And who has the right to say?"

     They both were silent for a moment, and then Aaron pulled up an arm and wrenched his head away to cough.  
When he turned back, there was an answer in his eyes. "The line must be different for everyone. From what I can see, Rick has no line." Aaron said, his eyes the color of the sky just before rain. It was the look he got when he was sad, or in deep focus or consideration. "Or if he does, maybe he just crossed it so far and so long ago that it's just blatantly ignored now."

     Eric digested what Aaron had just said. "What's your line?" He asked, voice gentle.

     The brunet sniffed a little, and then looked at Eric with blue, blue eyes. "You. Anything or anyone that could hurt you. I would do anything for you." Aaron's eyes were deep blue now, his pupils blown wide. It was the look he got when he was confessing deep love. It was a color that was specifically reserved for Eric, and Eric alone. Perhaps that was why he liked it so much.

     "Have you ever killed anyone, Eric?" Aaron asked, eyes the same deep color. He was fairly certain that his sweet, thin ginger wasn't a murderer, even for self-defense, but still, he asked.

     "A walker? Yeah, I've killed plenty of those. You know that,"  
Aaron shook his head. "No, I mean a person. Someone who was alive when you killed them."

     Eric's amber-brown eyes were a dark shade as well. It was the hue his eyes got when he was alone with Aaron. Alone with him and his sweetness and deep questions.

     When he spoke, his voice was quiet. "No."

     "Well, when you kill them, you have to watch the light leave their eyes. See a whole life that you just ended. All of the things they could'a seen, could'a done--" Aaron turned away to cough. "All gone. Because of you."

     Eric looked up at Aaron with sad, serious eyes. Aaron had such a calm, soothing voice. It was low, but not to a point where it would bother you or where it got too gravely. It was low but smooth, and made Eric-- a grown man-- swoon. Now, this smooth, calming voice was utterly serious and intense, but gentle all at once. It was nothing short of transfixing.

     "It's awful. Scarring. But I'd do it for you. I'd do it for you in heartbeat."

     Eric's face flushed bright red. Aaron noticed that he tended to do that when he was embarrassed or swept of his feet by something. Aaron hardly ever blushed-- his face was too tan to show much. _But those gingers..._ Aaron thought, suppressing a small chuckle. _They burn bright red._

     "I'd do it for you too." Eric said after a long while. He buried his gingery head into Aaron's shoulder, kissed the warm skin, and promptly fell asleep.


	3. Not Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not again, Rick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own AMC's "The Walking Dead"

     The next morning, Aaron woke up to a sore throat and a sleepy, warm ginger tangled in his arms. He shifted a little so he could turn and cough. He tried to do it quietly, because Eric(with his broken ankle) would always benefit from more rest.

  
     Then, without waking Eric, Aaron slipped out of the blankets and went to get himself a glass of water; his hoarse throat yearned for it. 

     As he turned the faucet in the kitchen for water, he glanced out the nearby window. 

     Outside, people were gathering in the center of the street about two hundred feet from Aaron and Eric's house. The gap between torsos and shoulders let Aaron see a dark ebony haired man swinging punches at a black man. With a jolt of surprise that had been significantly dulled by how many times it had been felt, Aaron realized that the dark haired man was Rick, and the black man was Morgan.

     Aaron tipped his glass into his mouth and chugged the water hastily before swearing under his breath. "Not  _again_ , Rick," he sighed, and set down the cup.

     He re-entered the living room, and shook Eric a little to wake him up. He blinked at Aaron with uncomprehending eyes.

     "C'mon, Rick's got himself into another fist fight." Aaron explained, tapping his fingers impatiently.

     Eric groaned. "All right, I'm awake," he grumbled and let Aaron pull him to his feet and lead him out the front door.


	4. How We Survive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If we didn't kill them, they would have killed us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own AMC's "The Walking Dead"

Up close, you could see that Morgan was using his staff, whilst Rick had no weapon (save white hot furry). He threw his fists around, blocking the staff and connecting with Morgan's face. The blow stunned Morgan, and he staggered back a little. A small trickle of blood came from his nose.

     Aaron and Eric stood trying to peer over or around the mountain that was Tobin.

     After fifteen or so seconds of trying to see, the pair shifted left slightly, and found a window between Tara and Glenn.

     Now Rick was on top of Morgan, sending blow after blow to the other man's face. Morgan's face contorted in pain before he managed to grab up his staff and whack Rick in the back of the head with it. 

     Stunned, Rick was able to be slammed off of Morgan. They both clambered to their feet, circling each other in a sort of wolf-like manner. They were both bleeding, and Rick had the look of an injured, cornered animal in his eyes.

     "Do you _really_ think that _your_ way is the right approach? That its gonna _keep ya' alive?_ " Rick snarled, his voice astonished and disgusted.

     "Killing people in their sleep isn't the right approach either," Morgan responded, his eyes dark. "You don't know anythin' about 'em. Ya don't, Rick. This _can't_ be the way to do things."

     "It _has to be!_ We gotta go fo' them, before they can get'ta us. It's that simple. We _have to_!" Rick bellowed back, and took a challenging step towards Morgan. "And if ya don' like that, you can leave."

     When Morgan didn't move, Rick started forward to begin the physical fight over again. 

     Members moved forward, and some grabbed on to Morgan and others to Rick, holding them back. Rick managed to break away from Daryl and Glenn's grip, and was making for Morgan when Aaron jumped in his way to stop him. Rick reeled his fist and slammed it into Aaron's nose.

     Then Abraham was there, blocking the way with solid muscle while he gently shoved Aaron out of the way. Daryl grabbed Rick's arms from behind, while Glenn pressed a hand into Rick's shoulder.

     Behind them, Carol stood pushing Morgan back with her strong, firm hands. Tara and Michonne was subduing him from behind.

     Aaron staggered back to Eric, who's chestnut eyes were dark with concern.

     "Oh my God, Aaron," he hissed, touching a hand to Aaron's face. It came away red.

     "I'm fine," Aaron muttered to him, his soothing voice still steady. 

     "If anyone has anything to say, say it now!" The challenge came from Morgan. Aaron could feel the words rising in his throat.

     "If we didn't kill them, they would have killed us. We hardly even got Maggie and Carol back alive," he exclaimed, loud enough so the whole cluster of people could hear. "This, is how we survive."

     Then, for not either the first or second time, Rick nodded his appreciation at Aaron.  
"

     We shouldn't be doing this," called a short, stocky man. Aaron thought his name was Kent, but wasn't completely sure. "This is bloodthirsty and gets us into more trouble than it's worth. We should stick to our own matters." A few Alexandrians seemed to agree. And then, with a scalding glance at Aaron, he added, "And stop supporting the ideas of a _mad man_."

     Everyone was silent as Rick broke away from the group with a huff and stalked off.

     Morgan broke away to the opposite direction.

 


End file.
